X-men: Iliad, the Age of Bronze
by romanov16
Summary: AU: When the armies of Apocalypse threatens the last free city of the Ancient World, the famous Troy, it mutant guardians refuse to surrender without a fight. In the process Rogue, a priestess of Artemis, is captured, and falls under the protection of Apocalypse's most infamous -if unwilling-horseman: the demon eyed warrior called Gambit. To save the city, they must work together.
1. Chapter 1

It's always been clear that comic and superheroes are the modern mythology. And fulfills the same psychological needs for people. So I figured what if a AU paid homage to the myths that help give us the entertainment we have today. The characters here will keep their names and accent, to further the connection between the myths of past and present, otherwise I'll try to be as correct as I can with daily life.

The story of the Trojan War—the Bronze Age conflict between the kingdoms of Troy and Mycenaean Greece–straddles the history and mythology of ancient Greece and inspired Homer some 400 years later in the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey". Since the 19th-century rediscovery of the site of Troy in what is now western Turkey, archaeologists have uncovered increasing evidence of a kingdom that peaked and may have been destroyed around 1,180 B.C.."

Recent excavations have shown an inhabited area 10 times the size of the citadel, making Troy a significant Bronze Age city. Layer VIIa of the excavations, dated to about 1180 B.C., reveals charred debris and scattered skeletons—evidence of a wartime destruction of the city that may have inspired portions of the story of the Trojan War. In Homer's day, 400 years later, its ruins would have still been visible.

* * *

Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold. But you will remember me. Remember me for centuries ~Fallout Boys

* * *

 _Prologue_

Arcadia...1170 _B.C_

Deep in the heart of Arcadia's famed mountain valley, surrounded by the cypresses and of the Peloponnese peninsula, the walled citadel of Kallistē stood proud and gleaming behind the protection of its limestone gates, it's richness and bounty proclaimed for all to know by the gentle rustling of it barley fields, and silver touched orchards. Normally, the harvesters would be out among the sheaves this time of the year, iron sickles flying as they gathered bundles into wooden carts drawn by oxen. Maidens would be treading grapes into the finest wine, their long hair dancing around them as they flashed coy smiles at men. Meanwhile, more settled members of the city would be relaxing in the shade with a fine cup of _kykeon_ with their spouses, while children played in the shade.

But alas, the gods were fickle, and apparently had decided that such joy was not to be had this year. And possible any year afterwards, seeing that all they knew and cherished in this world could vanish in the disgrace of war, misery, and enslavement. Queen Pricilla of Ancantopolis felt her delicate frame shutter within her fragrance robes, in a way that had precious little to do with cool stormy air that encompassed her lonely figure inside her guest chambers. And everything to do with inescapable shroud of dread bearing on her loved ones from Hades itself.

Tonight's talk upon the crimson painted benches of King Jean-Luc's Megaron hall sent her gentle heart into a terror, and her feet into a quick retreat from the men and their grim talk of hopeless odds, armies right outside their boarders, and last defense. Returning to the rooms so graciously loaded to her, Pricilla hadn't bother to remove the gold-beaten circlet, or its trailing silver veil from her fair tresses, and took strange comfort in the rhythmic clanking of her many bangles and dripping earrings as she paced the tile floor. How ironic that each of her jewelry was shaped like arrowheads, for a people at war, a Queen in exile.

She breathed shakily, a hand held to her fair mouth as she forced her mind to slow down, and remember all the facts, least she go mad. Right now, a scattering of leaders from the local kingdoms were gathered together in silent dread. Powerful men in the bronze clad armor -her husband among them- had pleaded their loyalty to their confederacy new leading family, Jean-Luc and his two sons. Miraculously, the infamous bickering and personal wars of the Arcadia people had been set aside as they faced the most difficult decision of their lives. For the first time in living memory an outside threat upon their sovereignty loom above their heads like the gods' wrath.

Though all kingdoms of the earth, few were the unspoiled, harmonious wilderness of Arcadia. Many had coveted it over the years, but the land's free people had always turned such ambitions away by means of the _phalanx_ and spear. But never had the danger been so relentless, so greedy, devouring kingdom after kingdom with the apatite of a glutton...

She shuddered. The unholy triumvirate of En Sabah Nur, Essex the Sinister, and the Savage Sabertooth was curse sent upon them by the gods, she was sure of it...but what Pricilla could not understand, for the life of her was why, why had the guardians who'd watched over them for so long suddenly turn from them now? Mndful of the stories passed down through the year, relating what happened to men who failed to honor the gods, Pricilla had never failed to make certain her husband gave each deity in the Pantheon their due. This piety had increased ever since she'd given birth to their Anna, now that there was something so much more dear to keep safe in such a world as this.

Just the thought of her sweet child made the worry in her heart pump faster, her hand twisting the rings that bejeweled them. Anna was here with her, ever since her husband gave the order for their beloved white-hewed Ancantopolis to be evacuated for the safety of the ally. At the tender age of five, the little girl had looked upon the excitement as an adventure of a life time. While she had romped and explored her new surrounds with wide eye wonder after their arrival, blissfully unaware in the sweet innocence of a child how her life had utterly changed after the very first day...

The sound of the chamber doors opening caught her ears, and turning, Pricilla was just in time to witness her peeved-looking sister step over the cedar threshold, eyes flashing with barely contained irritation.

Pricilla sucked in her breathed, and tried to force her hands to stop trembling as thunder cracked -there were many things that could make Carrie look so, her sister was always ill at ease in new places, and there was no alarm on her face...surely nothing could be wrong.

"What is it?" the queen asked, stepping forward to meet the sapphire eyes so like her own. Though without the same amount of softness. Carrie had never allowed herself such gentle manners -her lightening fast mind too quick under her tiredly gathered brown curls for such things. But there was concern in them as well.

"Anna's not in her chamber," her lady sister said without delicacy, getting to the crux of the matter, no matter how her sister's eyes widen. Pacing herself now, the matching blue peplos swaying with her steps, Carrie let out a heated snort. "And naturally, the guards and her nursemaid didn't notice a thing. We ought ta dismiss the lot of them. Ah was hoping for their shake that she came to you-"

"Not, she didn't," Pricilla exclaimed, a hand flying to her throat, feeling its rapid pulse. "How could -Ah just checked on her!"

Carrie stopped her pacing and held up a hand. "Calm yourself. This is just Anna being a imp again, Ah'm sure of it. Think Cilla. We know that when Anna has trouble sleeping at home she'd find herself a place to hide, and pretend to be brave. Where are the most likely places here?"

Pricilla bite her lip, as the reasoning struggled to take her over. Carrie was right, of course, this was just like Anna -such a sweet, stubborn little thing. Unlike most children, her daughter hated asking for help, be it with fear or panic or pain. Instead her strong little spirit would rail and fight against whatever it considered a threat to her. Or failing that, retreat to where she felt it was safest.

It pained Cilla that she apparently was no longer considered first under that category. That place mostly likely belonged to her father...but after him...the most likely choice would be...

Her shoulders slumped as the answer suddenly became clear. "Remy's room. Anna would be in Remy's room."

"Remy..."Carrie repeated flatly, even as she fell into step besides her sister as they existed the room.

"Remy," Cilla confirm, certain beyond doubt as they made they journey down a series of pillared hallways, the torch lights dancing in the refection of their jewelry. She pulled her shawl closer around her as her saddles announced her coming.

The queen sighed as their destination drew closer, the double doors guarded by one of Jean-Luc's most faithful subjects -one who was also his kinsman, who respectfully stood at attention as the royal women drew closer.

* * *

XXX

"Yo' Majesty. My lady," Lapin greeted them, his ponytail of red hair shinning under his helm."I assumed yo ere fo' Anna..."

"If you knew she was here, why didn't you take her back yourselves," Carrie asked him, with a narrowing of her eyes. Cilla sighed, no wonder Anna had a suspicious side to her nature.

Lapin offered a wryly smile. "I can't begrudge the _petites_ for findin' comfort. Its good some of us can. Sides, Mattie with dem in dere."

Neither could Pricilla. Besides, what's the harm, the queen thought children were far too young for trouble to come of it yet -Anna was five, and Remy only ten. Mattie was no fool. Neither was Lapin. He was a fine choice for guarding his younger cousin.

Then she corrected her as she and Carrie brushed pasted him into the room. Younger _cousins._

And lo and behold, there the little imps were. It took their eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light come off the low burning blazer, cloaking the room in warm shades of red and black. Which provided an astonishing effect on the murals of lions and charioteers that covered the walls. Gingerly stepping around the toys the lay spewed over the floor, the Queen and her sister came to the side of sleep couch that held two figures instead of the one little boy it was suppose too.

Curled next to Remy, Anna looked even smaller than her darling girl normally did; burrowed like a squirrel under the older boy's arm with an intensity that never left her, even in sleep. Remy, on the other hand, slumbered with a graceful lightness and cocky ease in which he seem to do everything, face relax and a smile twitching in his dreams, while his free hand cushioned his head.

The Nurse Mattie -caretaker and minder of Kallistē's royal princes for three generations- looked up from her sewing and smiled at the royals, though she raised a dark finger to her lips. "Don' wake em, it'll take forever t' get dem asleep again."

Breathing out, Pricilla settled on the bed's corner and carefully began rearranging her daughter's white sleep tunic so it wasn't falling off her thin shoulder. When that was done, the Queen gently smoothed aside strands of Anna's wild curls. She was truly a beautiful little girl, with a delicate heart-shaped face and tumble of aubrun hair, save for the few white locks of alabaster that Pricilla was brushing away. Black eyelashes pressed themselves soundly against her daughter's full cheek, each lash as stubborn as their mistress's pouting pink lips, which were nearly buried in the tan skin of Remy's side, as the boy slept only in a loin cloth.

Besides her Carrie sighed, and rubbed the arch of her nose, while the emerald eyes she shared with her niece peered down at the children.

"Well, if nothin' else, Ah suppose we oughta be grateful that Anna's already attached ta her husband."

Cilla wince. Acknowledging that fact in her head was nothing. Saying it out loud was another. "Carrie..."

An eyebrow lifted. "As Ah recall, those was the terms ya agree to Cil, you and Jean-Luc both."

And it was true, they did. In order for an alliance to be made between Ancantopolis and Kallistē, a bond strong than oath was required. And as Jean-Luc had charmingly put it, he had a son, and they had a daughter. But originally, the plan had been to merely betrothed them until they were older...the war had caused the treaty to be put into effect far sooner than Cilla would have desired. There was something mocking in the fact that her five year old daughter, whom she had carried for nine mouths, belonged to the little boy besides her rather than her own mother, in the eyes of the gods.

This was reinforced when Anna's arms tighten around both Remy's arm and her favorite doll of carved ivory. Normally, a girl sacrificed her toys to Artemis after she was married, but given Anna's age, the adults were willing to bend the rules regarding that.

And while she was ashamed to confess it now, the Queen had worried, in the beginning, that she and her husband had been giving their child to something both dangerous and below her station. Remy was not Jean-Luc's by blood, and his origins were keep secret, but judging from the clever hands that had sneaked her bangles more than once (before returning them as Mattie held his ear) and quick footed ways the boy had about him, Cilla suspected the streets had call the auburn haired child _son_ before the palace had. And while Remy looked for all the world like a regular little boy, lanky yet always hungry, that notion was through out the window like a javelin the moment his eyes were open under his unruly bangs. A sea of black with rings of red flame for eyes, there could be no clearer sign that the child was one of the Gifted -a mortal chosen by the gods to a vessel for their power, acted out upon the world.

Some of the Gifted were devoured by their abilities...utterly destroyed by them. Mind, body, and soul. Such was the price of great power. As the philosopher Xavier had said, the only way to manage it, and therefore gain the ability to use it as the gods intended, was a firm bond with the human potion of the Gifted induvial life. To love and serve others.

Of course, not everyone, included the Gifted, agreed with such bein ideals. That was partly why En Sabah Nur was devouring them as he were. In all the lands he conquered, any gifted he came across were enslaved to his service...with the help of those already enthralled.

Cilla shuddered at such a fate befalling Remy, mischievous and quick-witted as the boy was, he was also generous in spirit -as shown by the way he had gradually charmed Anna into nearly eating out of his hand as they'd played in the courtyards of the citadel, always underfoot.

It all seemed so much, for such young creatures. But neither complained.

"No, they don'," Mattie agreed when this thought was shared outloud. "Remy knows it won't change anyt'ing. But my Queen, I must ask...what be de latest word with de men folk?"

Pricilla stilled, and could not answer. So Carrie did it for her.

"They go ta battle in the mornin', nurse."

The dark skinned woman sucked in her breath. "Gods above..."

Silence came then before Mattie dared to speak. "Has...has yo' husband spoken on what t' do if things...don' go our way?"

"Yes..." Cilla managed. "If things...go badly, then we, along with Henri's family are to flee to coast, and take a ship to beg asylum from Xavier's city of Troy."

Mattie's eyes went wide. "T'at desperate den eh?"

Cilla winced. Xavier was one of the most notable Gifted, a mind reader of extortionary talent. He could've lived like a god-king. Instead, he chose to live like a human one. Still, most of the world rulers considered him a cracked pot. Rather than rule by the means all kings did, Xavier had lead his people across the Aegean to build a new city based on his ideals of service and sacrifice. All willing to work and live the dream were welcomed to come and lived there. Make a life there. No matter who they were, or where they were from.

It was a nice dream, she had to admit...but dreams died quick deaths in the presence of En Sabah Nur.

* * *

XXX

Meanwhile done in the Great Hall of his house, Jean-Luc stared into the crackling fames of the hall's central hearth, as if hoping Hestia would speck assurance to him from the rippling heat that he had not that damned his nation and friends to their end. Looking up, his face was impassive as he examined his confederacy. His eldest, Henri, was on his right. Owen, Lord of Ancantopolis and his in-law was on his left. Both men were with him. Together, they had convinced with other with a combined flavor of charm and firm reasoning.

To fight was the only option left for them. En Sabah Nur would never be bargained with, the monster only understood submission that Jean-Luc was not willing to give him. He would be damned to Tartarus before he yield his land and sons to that beast. In his hand, the king further crushed the scroll send from the enemy against his throne's armrest, for in plain words the enemy had offer to allow him his throne in return for both the surrender of his city...and his youngest child.

Jean-Luc breathed in deeply to smother his rage. He knew why Remy was demanded - En Sabah Nur had made similar demand upon other households with Gifted children. The monster warlord took them, broke them, raised them as his horsemen, pure killers with no sense of honor. Then then kept them in his service for the remaindered of their lives.

He would not surrender Remy to such a fate. Nor his country.

Not while he breathed.

* * *

Okay how was this AU? Like it love it? Obviously mutants exist, so will the powers and the x men, after a fashion. Mutants are treated with a heathy respect, but are still feared, like the demigods of old. So will the Trojan war make an appearance. How do you like the idea of Rogue and Remy being married as children -it plays a big role latterin the story, and fits the time period.

 _Kallistē is a Greek word translating to the fair, or handsome, beautiful -the closest word to Lebeau_

 _peplos was a type of dress worn in Ancient Greece_

 _Kykeon was a early beer_

Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

EyksMcSpeen: Beautifully written you say? thank you! I wanted to blend old style with the new. I really want to capture an epic tone!

Chumba Wamba 123: I'm glade you like it.

KaliAnn: Good to hear from you again Kali ann, I'll try to live up to expectations!

Guest:Hope the chapter is worth the wait!

Alaster Boneman: Atmospheric you say! Thank you, I'm flattered! I've up the fear and terror just for you, hope you like it!

Guest: Ture, but this is more Trojan war.

doomseas1: I'm glad the charater felt believeable, I hope they still do here!

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Chapter I

The sun rose slowly over the hills that next morning, dripping crimson light upon the walled battlements of Kallistē. The shadows of the trees branches reached over their fields in twisted spears of ebony; like the front troops of En Sabah Nur's marauding armies of thieves and murderers, who were trying to supplant them in their very own land. Armies which Jean-Luc knew his men either had to turn back, or perish trying.

That was why those who answered the called for every able body solider in the region was gathered in the pillared courtyard of his Megaron, adjusting the worn bronze armor and helms that both seen better days, and better odds. But in huddled groups of threes and twos, all eyes were steady as the men prepared both their mind and soul for battle as well as their body. They re-laced their armguards, and sharpened the glowing bronze of their _xiphos_ swords till they rung with echoing notes.

Else the men painted both their arms, and faces, with elaborate rivers of crimson. They adjusted their armor's loose shoulder plates, double checked the straps of their shields, retied the archer's string on bows, or else bent over, firsts clenching the holy amulets hanging around their necks, while tossing wine from their drinking cups out to the gods, in libation for their favor. They needed all the help Zeus Cloud-gather was willing to give them.

Though of course, if that help came in the form of additional troops, Jean-Luc wouldn't complain. Not half as many men as he had summoned had obeyed the summons's call, despite the solemn oath the kings of Arcadia had taken to do just that. He could tell just by walking among them, with his helm on his head and auburn hair pulled back by a gold torc, to show his status, and inspire some hope. But he could see how short they were in numbers. He sighed, suddenly to melancholy for any anger at the fact; no that job could easily fall to Owen, whose eyes were spiting fire as he and Henri walked besides them.

"May the gods sent the Kindly Ones upon 'em, for cowerin' while brave men fight on their behalf," the Lord of Ancantopolis growled out, his hand clenching the hilt of his sword with was a wonder the metal didn't yield under his grip.

"Can y' really blame dem m'Lord?" Henri asked with a snort, though his eyes weren't watching his in-law. No...they were ensnared by his wife, Mercy, who's willowy blond figure remained stationary on their house' limestone porch; gracefully framed by its painted pillars, with their son on her hip and her braids swaying in the breeze towards her husband. The expressive blue gaze that had bewitched Jean-Luc's oldest son was carefully blank now, half hidden under the fine shawl of gold draped around her form, though her chin was lifted with the loyalty befitting a future queen. Mattie had taught her well over the years.

Meanwhile Queen Pricilla stood besides Kallistē's Crown Princess, her composure not as strong as her counterpart, but holding fast as she watched after her own king, while she could; Cilla's white throat flexing like a swan-wing's under ropes of amber. Her sister had firmly grasped her hand on her opposite side, lending her strength.

Catching her gaze, Owen breathed out before stubbornly clenching his jaw. "Yes ah can. Any man who refuses ta fight for his homeland is the same as a man who doesn't care what becomes of his wife. If those cowards truly wanted to defend their families, they be here with us. What do they think is goin' ta happen if they just roll over for that monster? That En Sabah Nur will be generous?"

"Well dat is what de _homme_ promise in the message he sent us," Jean-Luc returned drily, as adjusted the crimson spill of his own chlamys cloak. He reached for the clip that would keep it in place only to realize it was missing from his belt. Briefly puzzled, he then snorted as the obvious culprit came to mind. "T'at those who yield t' his rule will receive privileges and honor after de conquest."

* * *

"Honor...any man willing ta sell himself inta slavery has as much honor as inebriated jackas-"

"Hold dat t'ought," Jean-Luc requested mildly, as he spotted his thief. Making his way through the crowd to the shadowing cover of the encircling columns, he found his youngest leaned up carefully against his hiding place, easily twirling his prize with the clever fingers that caused father and son to meet in the first place, five years prior.

Five years...Jean-Luc shook his head disbelievingly. By the gods could it have truly been so long? It seemed that it was only yesterday that, in the tragic aftermath of a poisoning attempt, Jean-Luc had obeyed an ancient Kallistēian tradition, and gone for a week in the garb of a peasant, hoping to draw the villain out into the open with the thought that the plot had succeeded. It had worked flawlessly, and Jean-Luc had prepared to buy himself a honey cake to congratulate himself before heading home.

Only...as he stood in line before the market stall, years of military instincts sense more than felt the presence of small fingers near his money pouch. Capturing the offending limb, the king of Kallistē had found himself staring into the dumbfounded gaze of a pervious uncaught pickpocket that had been plaguing this market for weeks, filling the ears of the guards with complaints about him. Though none of the reports had mentioned the thief was barely off his mother's breast. Or that he was one of the Gifted.

Or that he was in desperate need of a home.

While Jean-Luc was far from being a man unmoved by pity, it had been more than that which brought Remy into his house. To say otherwise would cheapen it. The poisoning attempt had taken the life of his queen, his lover, the mother of his son...and of his unborn son that had died within her womb as her body battle with death as surely as Hercules did. In Remy's skin and bones form, the wildness of his hair, and the fearful, stubborn glint in his burning gaze...the strings the Fates had snipped with the deaths in his household had began to weave themselves back together.

And he never regretted it, making a street rat into a prince. Never regretted the humor and zest for living his boy had brought back into his household, during that dark time. Even now, Jean-Luc could feel the tug at the corner of his mouth at his son's antics. And judging from the smirk playing across the ten year old's face, Remy knew it too.

Jean-Luc shook his head. Scamp.

"I need dat pin, _flis_ ," he informed his child, holding out his hand expectedly. With a shrug, Remy turned it over easily, though he kept his head down, eyes hidden by unruly bangs, pulled into himself as he was when first came here.

His father watched him carefully as he slide his pin into its proper place, so his cloak fell over his back and across one shoulder. "Aren't y' suppose t' be sleep _mon flis_?"

Remy shrugged again, rolling his bare shoulders against the column like a tom-cat stretching. Like most children this time of year, he wore only a white cloth of _belier_ skin around his waist, leaving his torso bare save for a leather necklace with one meaningful gold coin attached to it.

"Couldn't sleep, _Pere_ ," was all he said by means of answer. Remy never gave out more information then he felt he had to. It was a habit from the street that would serve him just as well in the palace. So while he never mentioned it, and there was no way to know for certain, Jean-Luc often felt it had something to do with both Remy's eyes, and his Gift, that the boy never seemed to run out of energy.

That was only one ability, and while Remy had never told him about it, observation had informed the king of another that kept Remy sensitive to high amounts of emotion, just as animals were -beyond that actually.

No wonder he couldn't remain sleep.

Remy suddenly shifted, arms crossed lankily over his thin chest with a knowingness that belied his years. "I overheard some guards about dat message...want do dey want with _moi?_ "

Jean-Luc stilled. Then he breathed out.

"...I don't know _flis_ ," he told him. "But y' don't worry bout it, y' hear?"

Remy frowned up at him skeptically; childish trust wrestling in those churning pools of crimson with that stubborn and defiant streak of him, that came out whenever he felt something about him was being restrained -be it his person or his knowledge. "Y' sure bout dat? It sounds like somt'ing fo' me t' worry about-"

"It ain't," Jean-Luc interrupted him firmly. "Because I know y' Remy. Better mebe den y' know yerself. Dey could try all dey wanted, but dey couldn't control y' any more dey could control de crash o' de _mer_. Y' got too much strength t' ever be any _homme's_ slave."

Remy stared at him, blinking in the way he only did when something had surprised him good. Five years off the streets, the trust freely offered still caught him off guard.

Eyes soften, Jean-Luc knelt down besides him so their gazes met. He easily ran a hand through Remy's scruffy hair, marveling again at what a different five years -and Mattie's cooking- could make. He was a handsome boy, tall for his age, and the weapons training started under his frère had already begun to give the boy some early muscles.

Jean-Luc bite back a chuckle. It was probably a good thing that his son's marriage was already taken care of. Otherwise that charm of his would only lead to trouble. And in a fortunate twist of fate, Remy's young _mariée_ had easily accepted him into her life as both a playmate and protector, and he doted on her. He could see no reason why she wouldn't accept him as a husband when they were older and ready.

He smiled at the though of his _belle-fille._ The princess of Ancantopolis was sweet promise of a future to leave his youngest -just as Mercy was for Henri. No matter if this battle ending them victorious in Kallistē...or with their loved ones fleeing to Xavier's city of Troy...his sons had their future. He was content.

"REMY!"

Both father and son gave a experience wince as Mattie's voice boomed from the house with the furor of the thunderbolt, undoubtable after finding her younger charge missing from his room. Clucking his tongue, Jean-Luc shook his head at his son's pleading look.

"Dis be one battle where y' on yo' own _flis_ ," he informed him. "I have t' be alive t' fight my own. Now get."

* * *

With slumped shoulders and a groan, Remy scampered off to get his comeuppance, and Jean-Luc returned to the men in the courtyard. The next few minutes passed with relative peace as the last preparations were taken. When the dawn of Eos began to ripen into golden midmorning, the king climbed the steps of the porch with his older son and in law; as they stood before their women folk facing their hoplites.

Raising a hand, Jean-Luc commanded complete silence as he stood besides the brazier offering the smell of burnt meat to appease the gods.

"Brothers, I ask not'ing I do not risk myself. Y' know our cause, why we fight. En Sabah Nur believes dat he is a god among de Gifted, and dat dis makes him by right our master. T' dat I say _dis_ : he will only be _mon_ master when _mon_ corpse lays at his feet. Not before. I will not give dis city of my fathers t' any man save my sons. As freemen, I trust dat y' feel de same."

"Men of Arcadia," Henri called out. "Will y' fight for yo' freedom?"

"Aye!" The men called back, their spears slamming the ground.

"Will y' fight for yo' families?"

"Aye!"

"Will y' fight with y' king?"

"AYE!"

Jean-Luc closed his eyes. "Then may the gods be with us all-"

But before he could finish this speech, the cantor of a steed came barreling into the courtyard, a royal cousin named Emil was its rider, a sentinel from the outer wall who nearly flung himself of the horse and splattered his brains in is haste.

"M' lord!" Emil gasped out, eyes alit in a way they hadn't dare to be in roughly a week. "M'lord, King Marius is hear at the gate...he has an army!"

Marius. Immediate voices erupted from the crowd, while the royal men wasted no time in making their way from the palace citadel down to the lower level gate. Owen was nearly laughing as they went, his head shaking in utter disbelief.

"That sonaofbitch actually showed his face. Ah can't believe it."

"Well believe it m'Lord, cause he be here," Emil crowed, nearly prancing as the gates to the city began to open in order to allow Jean-Luc's party to step outside, and meet his counterpart from the east. "And de size o' his force...Uncle, we might just have a chance after all."

"If their willin' t' work with us, den perhaps," Jean-Luc commented neutrally, his face carefully mild. "As y' were Emil."

The young man thump his chest. "Yes, Uncle."

Then he was gone, scampering back up the battlements as the King of Deimospolis halted just outside the city with his retinue, a black chlamys contrasting drastically with his golden armor, though his helm was currently off his greying head and tucked under one arm, showing the harden face that was no stranger to warfare. The rest of his army waited a little ways off, nearer to the fields.

And Jean-Luc would know, he had gone to war against him many, many times over the years -minor battle over boarders and such. It was an old feud from before their father's time. One he had always been interested in closing, even before this nightmare with En Sabah Nur.

Unfortunately, such things were easier dreamt then done...but in recent years, there had been uneasy truce, which was more than anyone had hoped for.

He had to admit, he was surprise to see the old warrior here. Tensions with Marius had escalated when -in an attempted peace offering- Jean-Luc had suggested an betrothal between Remy and Marius' _fille_. Which had been taken by Marius as an gave insult, and said as much to them in so many words (Jean-Luc fingers still ached with the memory of holding Henri back from throttling the man...and wanting to set him loose).

But times had changed. There was a greater danger to consider now. And so much to lose.

"Maruis," he greeted, clasping his fellow king on the arm in respect. Then as protocol demanded, Jean-Luc swallowed his pride and turn to Marius' son and heir, who stood at his father right hand. "Prince Julien."

He wasn't surprise when the blond teenager gave the curtest dip of his head back in turn...that boy wouldn't know the meaning of civility of it ran him through with a spear point.

"I'll admit I'm surprise you've come...but past is past. I'd be glad to fight besides y' noble king-"

"I'm sure y' would be," Marius interrupted calmly, pushing his cloak back with an elegant movement. "But dat is not why I've come Jean-Luc."

That made the three royal men of Kallistē step back then, brows furrowing as they tried to figure out what was happening.

Owen put it best. "Then what in the blazes are ya here for?!" he exclaimed indignantly. "We got a war going on. Ya can't mean to hide behind the women's skirts can ya?"

Face flushing, Julian sucked air in through his teeth before taking a step forward, though his father's arm stopped him.

"I'm here t' make y' see reason Jean-Luc. Though we've been at odds, I respect y'. Yo' a good king. And a good man. But yo' not seeing facts fo' what dey are."

Jean-Luc was beginning to have a twisted feeling in his stomach, and could sense Henri griping his sword besides him.

"Oh? An what are dis facts?" he asked softly.

Marius eyed him with cold pity. "Don't play stupid m'Lord. It doesn't sure y'. Do y' really think yo' forces gathered here can stand a chance against the power of En Sabah Nur? His power pierces minds, changes flesh, alters de ground beneath y' feet. His horsemen are bred in the pits of Tatarus itself, runnin' only on dere bloodlust. Dey be de wrath of the gods. Yo' city will be wasted...and y' resistance will make him wrathful towards de other kingdoms in Arcadia."

"So what are y' saying M'lord," Henri inquired disbelieving, when Jean-Luc said nothing. "Dat we just give up, let that monster enslave us?"

" _Non._.." Marius answered, a hand lifted. " I'm saying dat against de power of En Sabah Nur, dere can be no victory...but for those dat join with him... dere be life-"

"Without freedom m'Lord," Owen spat, his own weapon very nearly drawn.

"Without sovereignty, _not_ without freedom," Marius barked back, in the first show of temper. Julien took that his que to step forward with a vindictive smirk, offering a very familiar scroll to his father, which Marius snatched from his hand. "I assume y' got one of dese as well. En Sabah Nur promises us our thrones in exchange for tribute, that doesn't shown so unreasonable."

Then his cold grey eyes narrowed, his voice growing softer. "And y' won't do dis. For the shake of one boy y' won't save yo' people."

Owen swore, Henri tensed, and Jean-Luc allowed his voice to grow equally cold. "Dat has not'ing t' do with dis."

"The hades it doesn't. I reliaze yo' smitten with yo' foundlin'-"

" _Mon flis_ ," Jean-Luc corrected, with the under growl of a lion.

"But surely y' can't weight his life against all of Arcadia. Hear sense, Jean-Luc. Give up de boy, yield yo' pride, and live. Or all of us will burn for it."

For a moment, the only sound to be heard was the wind in the grass, brushing through their cloaks. Even the birds seemed to of shut their becks.

"Speak Jean-Luc. Dis be de only time I'll ask."

"Y' claim t' respect me," the king of Kallistē spoke slowly. "If dat be true, den y' know _mon_ answer. Now answer me dis...when did Marius, beloved of Athena, abandon _reason_ for _madness_?"

The leader of the famed terror-spears breathed out slowly; giving his counterpart a long, measured look that covered a million hidden things. Then he nodded. "Very well."

With the lifting of his fist, Marius gave a signal. And then many thing began to happen at once. From the top of the battlements, men began to cry out in shocked agony. Then bodies began to hit ground with sickening _thumps_ as spies and traitors killed the loyal men at the gate. Emil was among them, eyes wider in death with the red line across his throat. Meanwhile, the retinue rushed to encircle them in a pen of spears, closing off any way out.

"Not all yo' people are so eager to be lead t' oblivion, Jean-Luc," Marius said by way of explanation. "If y' care not t' save our country, den I'll save it. If that means Kallistē must be sacked, so be it."

* * *

Here Marius paused, and turn to Owen and Henri.

"Decide now -boy, de _Apocalypse bringer_ will accept you as king if y' bow to his will. Lord of Ancantopolis, t'ink of y' wife. Y' daughter. Fear made y' give a royal princess t' a common t'ief, born with the dust o' de streets in his veins. Join us, and young Anna can have a husband wort'y o' her. I offer my own son-"

"The only fear here is yours, coward," Owen spat, sword out and shield up. "Meh and my own will die on our feet for we beg on our knees."

Then his eyes glinted dangerously. "As for my daughter's husband, that boy's veins has more honor in one drop then you and yoah brat have in ya whole bastard bodies."

Marius curled his lip at him. "De only bastard in question here is de street rat. Yo' throwin' two kingdoms away on a worthless mutt."

"Yo' describin' yourself pretty well M'Lord," Henri chewed out, his own weapon raised. "I stand with my father. _And_ my brother."

Marius clicked his tongue, and shook his head before placing his helm on, and walking back out of the circle with his son. "Very well. Gods as my witness, I tried. When dis be over I'll even spare what of yo' family I can, and try to convince Lord En Sabah Nur to do de same. But if dey die today, de blood be on yo' hands."

"Yoah not even gonna fight us coward?!" Owen called out, outraged. "Y' deny us single combat?!"

Without turning around, Marius answered. "Under orders, someone else has that privilege m'lord."

A man stepped forward from the retinue, the largest from the bunch. Lifting his black plum helm, waves of matted blond hair spilled over his shoulders, while his tongue lick his canines better suited to a lion than a man. Up close and personal, Saborthooth was even more savage than rumor had told it. Up close, one could see the human scalps that swung from his belt, the human skin that covered his shield.

He was laughing at the looks upon their faces, at how deep this treachery ran. "Can't trust anybody these days. Hurts don't it?"

Then he grinned again, "Course, its about to hurt a hell of a lot more. And that'll just be the warm up."

* * *

Away from such betrayal and treachery being cremated in blood; across the sea in the sandy shores of Asia Minor, another king sat in quiet tranquility in the holiness of his palace's antechamber. Contrary to what people thought, there was a reason as to _why_ he'd chosen this mountainous beach as the homeland of his dream. Why his citadel city was being built around this epicenter, growing larger and stronger and more lovely each day, like a bride awaiting her groom.

When he was a younger man, he had discovered this mountain enhanced his mental powers to where it could caressed the entire world with his watchful eye. However, the world being what it was, the temptation to avoid this duty was strong. However, once a season, he felt obliged to do so, if only to remind himself why his dream was so important. Why it had to be complete.

But today it was different.

Today, an entire city was screaming in terror. In absolute horror. Gasping, the king flung himself from his carved seat of ivory, his purple robed body crumpling under useless legs as his head pounding with a millions pains not his own.

"M'lord!" There was the gentle breeze that told of his most loyal handmaidens coming to his aid, their bangled wrists reaching under his arms, as tresses of crimson and white slipped free from linen headbands to shield his face with their smoothness.

"Lord Xavier, what did you sense? Surely it can not be that awful," the older of the two cried out. The younger didn't speck -she was a mind-reader, just as he was, and while not as strong, this pain had clear stricken her as well.

 _Oh gods..._ she thought, devastated, and Xavier felt a rush of guilt for allowing this to be Jean's first experience with Mt Cerebra. _Oh gods..._

 _Calm yourself Jean._ the king thought back firmly, willing his strength into his handmaiden. Out loud, he spoke to Storm. "I'm afraid it is indeed that awful. Summon the others. The X-men in are needed in Kallistē. Immediately, before it is to late."

* * *

Okay how was that to kick start the action? How was the dynamic between the characters, especially Remy and his Father, I based it more of the comics than the show. Please review.

 _Mon flis -my son_

 _mer -sea_

 _non -no_

 _belle fille -daughter in law_

 _mariee- bride_

 _belier -ram skin_

 _Pere- father_


	3. Chapter 3

Coco-Chic: I'm glad you find it interesting, I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

KaliAnn: Yep, live free or die -true today as it was back then.

Guest: I'm glad you like this take on the x-men, I'm enjoying writing it.

Alaster Boneman: I'm glad you like the introduction of Saberthooth, yes, I was inspired by Ares in the Troy movie

* * *

Chapter II

Lady Ororo of Troy, formerly of Egypt, formerly of Kegnia, warrior woman of the X-men, handmaiden and adviser to the greatest of King, was hardly a stranger to scenes of lost and devastation. As a young girl, before she had discovered she was Gifted, she had been helpless. Helpless as her tribal village was sacked by longstanding enemies, who carried it's people away from their home below beautiful Kilimanjaro, taking the them from green grasslands to ugly cities of brown in chains.

The market square had been the last place she had ever seen her mother. And the Goddess knew how they had both fought their separation. And yet, compared to many...Ororo's lot had been fortunate. Her white hair and strange blue eyes had spared her a life of hard labor, the slavers considering her too exotic to waste. Instead she had been sold to a wealthy Egyptian, chief vizier to Pharaoh, a governor of Goshen. And there she had stayed until her womanhood...and long after that. A pet on display year after year in that household, long after the rest of the servants perished by illness, accident, or age. But she remained young and lissome, her gift refreshing her as the rain renewed itself. And Ororo had nearly despaired, robbed of even the comfort death could promise. That is... until her full powers reveled themselves.

And such wild, wonderful power it had been. She could've blow down houses, flooded fields, and with her lightening set fire to that wicked, wicked land. But she hadn't. For what reason she, to this day, didn't fully know...she didn't know...she hadn't -all she could say of the matter was that somewhere inside her, wrapped up in the old legends and tales of truth and beauty and light, a still and small voice had told her to stop.

 _But they deserve it!_ Ororo had tried to argue, hovering high and mighty over the city of her captors, thunder roaring overhead at her command. And that voice, that small voice had told her that Egypt would one day be punished...just not here, not now, not at her hand.

She had her freedom, now she must go.

She hadn't understood.

That was why she had obeyed. How could she not? There was no clearer sign of the gods speaking to you that when one didn't understand what was happening. So Ororo had fled, flown, leaving that land of sand and whips, and sorrows behind her, flying like an unsteady bird over land and then over seas. Where she went, she neither knew nor cared. It was away, that was enough.

And she had flown until she could fly no more. Until she had dropped out of the sky onto the grassy hills of Troy.

Where her new family found her. Comforted her. Healed her. Adopted her. Given her home and a purpose.

That was why she was here, now on this oar-less bireme, channeling wind into it sails to blow her and her friends to where they were now needed. And the people that needed help there. With her gift, that distant that normally took a ship weeks to cross was reduced to days...even hours, if she went at it without stopping.

So far, she hadn't stopped. Not while people suffered, were suffering. No, she would...endure.

"Storm, take it easy darlin', it's not gonna help us if ya kill yerself getting us there," a gruff, irritable voice spoke from behind her, his annoyance expertly masking his worry.

She almost smiled. Almost. But she could not waste the energy. So she didn't smile, nor did she turn her head. Truthfully, she did not need to. She could picture Logan's short, burly form and scowling features, clad in the armor of Troy that matched her own and their friends: greaves protecting the legs, arm-guards on their limbs, a bronze breastplate over a sleeveless tunic, though Logan preferred his a dark blue with yellow lining, while Ororo favored a black loincloth, and matching cloak that attached to her wrists as her war-attire.

"I will be fine Logan, you know this. Besides, I can not rest." She couldn't live with herself if she did.

Logan swore under his breath -confidant in his ability to get away with it, with her so busy. She could sense his hands griping the fir railing of the ship in a death hold...only Logan would dare brave the decks at this speed, with the white wake flying behind them, the black-painted ship bouncing on the waves. The others were wisely keeping below.

Yet, the warrior name Wolverine braved it. For her shake. True, with his gift, he would most likely survive being tossed off at this speed (though it would be a lengthily swim back as she was _not_ stopping), but still, it was brave. Worthy of a warrior who often made the boast that he was "the best at what he did".

Her friend, on first glance, would seem an odd addition to King Xavier's X-men, to his dream. When his Majesty had found him, Logan had been a killer without memory, without a past. His tales were those of horror, of blood. More than once, Logan had thrown up his hands and declared the thing impossible -a city of protection...and peace.

"If the gods wanted us mortals to live in peace, they would have made us a little less like them," he had snarled more than one time.

In fact...the entire reason Ororo was found by Troy, in that grassy field, was because Logan had quit. Had left. Had told the King as much as simply walked out the city gates. And walked for a day and night, to whatever came next...until he had looked up, and seen Ororo dropping from the sky. Immediately forgetting his own troubles and plans, Logan had dropped everything and run to her...

And weak though she was, she had tried to fight him, frightened, _terrified,_ of being a slave again. O, what a sight they must have been, as Logan carried her back to the city in his arms. With her screaming, clawing, kicking, and yes...sobbing...helpless as the child taken so long ago into captivity.

But he hadn't stopped until she was safe within the healer's hall, and her King spoke for the first time to her, within her own mind.

That was why Logan belonged to dream...for even when he struggled to believe in it...he lived by it. His honor was a shield to his friends, a sword to his foes.

Ororo, Windrider of Troy, was honored to be counted his friend. It was a title rarely given, and therfore coveted.

Then, Logan tensed, and before Storm could wonder why, a familiar presence brushed her mind, young Jean's voice echoed in their was nothing too extraordinary, though one never quiet got use to the sensation.

But this time Lady Jean's voice was soft...distressed.

 _Storm...you can stop, and go easy now..._

Ororo started, her muscles tensing in instinctive protest. _Jean, no-_

 _Ro...his Majesty just contacted me with an update...its over now...We're too late._

* * *

 _Too late..._

Those were the two words that no warrior long to hear. Hades...even defeat or surrender were better by a legion. At least those words suggested you fought back. Even if you ended up losesin'. The Wolverine was no stranger to any of these things. It was a bitter cup the gods had cursed him with, along with his...gift...

But that didn't mean any of it ever got easier.

 _Too late..._ he repeated the sounds over and over in his head. Just each of 'em had, as they began the slow march over land to their destination. For some reason, Xavier demanded that artifacts be taken from any and all cities destroyed by En Sabah Nur. That way, he said, those that lost their lives to him will be remembered.

Sure -like that would make any difference to the poor saps in the underworld...But whatever Xavier wanted, Logan would deliver...he own the Trojan king that much. At the least.

Three days after hitting the Greek coast, their would be heroic crew arrived at Kalliste...or what was left of it. Now, Logan was no soft touch, centuries of wars and killings having effectively bleed that out of him a long age ago. But still, even that didn't stop an ancient weariness from flooding his iron coated bones. He had been to Kalliste before, seen it in her glory...citadels tall and proud against the sky.

Now there was nothing left, hardly even a smoking ruin...Sinister's Marauders sure knew how to send a message -resist, get wiped from the face of the earth...short and not so sweet.

Whore's sons. Specially since the evidence of their work lay around them, the residents of this once great city spewed where they had fallen. Soldiers, civilians. Men. Women. Children. Infants. And far too many of them were ripped apart in ways Logan was all too familiar with, a brutality that could belong to one Tatarus-escaped beast.

Saberthooth," he snarled in disgust. Figures...the shack of a city was never a pretty business, what with homes to destroy, men to slaughter, and slaves to haul away...but leave it to Victor to find ways to make it even more horrifying for the victims, every bit as blood-gored and vicious as Ares.

And far to many had their eyes open in unseeing terror of their last moments. Logan breathed out, closing a few of their eyes. Things like this reminded him why he remained here, fought for the Trojan dream. They might never win, but the battle...someone had to fight it. Even if that meant making concessions o his freedom...including but not limited too taken orders from Cyclops -a boy who hadn't yet live past his seventeenth year.

What the King was thinking when he gave Slick the job, Logan didn't know. Sure, Cyke had skill, a knack for strategy, but leadership was an entirely different beast altogether. And his way with command often left little to be desired; if the kid had any people skills, they were well hidden by the black plum helmet that covered his eyes, concealing the devastating power given to him by the gods. (Personally, Logon didn't envy the thought of sleeping in it).

Cyke stood upon the ruins of market stand, observing the misery with thinned lips. One think Cyke had going for him was his calmness, Logon begrudgingly admitted. All of Hades could brake loose and Cyclops would be in control as ever.

"Jean, do a mindsweep, try to get a hold of any survivors," he commanded the young woman that stood besides his, a nearly flawless redhead in a green battle chiton. The daughter of a highly regarded physician, Jean's family had fled to Troy after her mind powers became to dangerous for her native village to handle. She was devoted to Xavier as his handmaiden but Logan sometimes wondered if she had it cut out to be a war woman, her heritage as a doctor's daughter and the nature of her powers meaning these cases were hard on her.

That wasn't his call though, Jean's father had given his blessing and Cyke -somehow- was her betrothed. She was good though, no question about that.

Nodding, the young woman did just that, raising two fingers to her head as her olive eyes glowed the familiar purple they come to expect with her gift, her gathered braids and sheets of hair fanning out like an eagle's wings, as Jean lifted off the ground slightly in concentration, toes pointed and chin titled up to Apollo's light.

Sure made one hell of view, and Logan appreciated it as much as Cyke ever could.

Then Jean's eyes flew open, and she looked down upon them. "There are very small pockets of people still hiding, scared to come out. Some in the poorer section of the city, some in the rich. And one in the stables attached to the palace."

Logan started at this, and the all looked up to that smoking, obliterated mass that once was a seat of Royal power. Sinister had hit the palace hard; he could smell the effects from down here. Hard to fathom anybody hiding up there.

Still, if Red said there was someone, there was someone.

Cyclops nodded. "Good, Logan and I will gather the suvivors in the city, Storm, you and Jean try and find that person in the palace...it may be somebody important."

Logan snarled at that a little, under his breath -anybody who could live through this was important.

"Be careful. We meet back here before nightfall."

* * *

It was a short flight to the higher levels which held the palace, but one full of heartache. From on high, Ororo and Jean could see clearer than they men the utter damage done to this once great city. It was if some dark beast ripped it's beating heart out. Remembering the loathed name Wolverine had growled out, Storm suspected this was not far from the truth.

Heart sore, aching with long felt pain, Ororo lowered her eyes in respect and grief.

"It's not your fault, Storm," Jean said softy, as the two handmaiden began their descent to broken limestone path. Ororo tried not to shudder. While Jean would never use her powers for ill, it was still something that took one off guard, now and again.

"You were trying to get us here as fast as you could, their just wasn't anytime-"

"And these people have paid the price for it," the Wind-rider snapped harshly at the younger woman, -really, a child compared to her long years, still a maiden, one who never had to suffer the dishonor Ororo had in her childhood. Lightening cracking in her hair with her flare of temper, and Jean fell suitably silent, biting her lip and looking down.

Guilt for this soon began to surface, as they made their way over to the stables, or what was left of them, any horses having been long stolen. Really, she should not be taking her anger out on the child -especially when Ororo wasn't enterily sure how much some of her frustration had to do with how easily Wolverine became enthralled with the younger handmaiden eveytime she so much as lifted her hand.

Storm sucked in her breath. Such thoughts were unworthy at best...blatantly disrespectful at the worse. She put them to the back of her mind.

"How much further Jean?" she inquired, chin lifted. Her friend had her hand to her temple again.

"There..."

Following Jean's finger train, Storm saw a little tent of rubble that had collapsed on itself. Ororo blinked. It was too small to house a adult -even a small one...but not to small for a child.

And to judge by the frighten little whimpers arising from the rubble tent, a child it was.

Storm's hear ached again _. O goddess._

That ach increased tenfold when Jean used her power to lift aside the rubble, and that small little child began to scream in plainest terror as her hiding place was undone.

But what took both woman by surprise was how the little girl response to this. Where most would have fled...she attacked, flinging herself forward like a lion cub.

"NO!" she howled as her little fists pounded Storm's leg, wild strands of brown and white hair falling over a soot smeared, teary face. "NO! Go Away! Go Away!"

* * *

Reviews make me happy, so tell mewhat you though and I'll update sooner. How was that, do you like the world I'm making?

Kegnia - an ancient word for Kenya

Goshen -where Hebrew slaves were kept in Egypt.


	4. Chapter 4

bookfan99 :I'm so glad you think the story is well written, that's what I'm going for, I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Guest: Thank you very much!

KaliAnn: Yes, I'm trying to strike the balance. Do you think I got it here?

Alaster Boneman: I deal with Logan's nobility here as well, tell me what you though of it.

doomseas1: Thanks for saying yo like my world building.

* * *

Chapter IV

For a moment, the two war women stood dumbfounded at the shrieking barrage launched against them by such tiny fists, owned by a even more diminutive warrior. One that continued her battle even when Storm instinctively knelt to the child's level, grasping hold of her wrists in gentle restraint. Alas, it brought no comfort. Howling, the girl merely lashed out with her feet instead, filthy, bleeding toes flying like spears.

'"GO AWAY!" she screamed again. "LEAVE-MEH-ALONE! JUST -L-LEAVE MEH-ALONE!"

"Child please!" Ororo attempted to placate the girl, the daughter of a servant most likely, give the ragged sleep tunic she wore. "We are not hear to harm you-"

But sleep depraved, hungry and thirsty, the little one was beyond hearing any reassurance. Furious terror sung in mossy green eyes and her gasping sobs, wild and dry as she heaved air into a starved body.

"N-n-no!" she spat out, even as she twisted and withered. "Yah all with those monsters! All a yah! You killed 'em! You killed everyone! _You took 'em away from me! AH HATE YOU!_ "

The cries reverberated through the air, carried on the West Wind to the gods above in purest lament as, finally, the child broke down.

Utterly.

At this point, Ororo had given up on normal tactics.

"Jean-" she said, inviting the younger woman to use her gift to sooth the child before her grief physically harmed. Jumping a little, the redhead quickly gathered herself, nodded, before reaching out a hand and breathing deeply.

"It's alright little one," Ororo tried to reassure the girl, releasing one hand to brush white and brown strands out of her eyes. "It's alright, my friend here will not harm you -I swear by my mother's soul before all the gods she will not. Breathe deeply and-"

" _Get out of mah head!_ " the child screamed, putting all hope of a easy task upon its funeral pyre. "GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!"

To the Windrider's shock, Jean yelped and stumbled backwards, a loud cracking sound filling the air as purple energy flew out around them. The little one gasped as well, eyes rolling back into her skulk as she slumped to the ground. Ororo scrambled to catch her.

"Jean," the weather witch barked, more sharp in her tone as ancient protectiveness roiled up from her very bones, outraged on the child's behalf. Thunder rolled overhead. "What by all the gods was that?!"

The younger handmaiden cringed, a hand pressed gingerly to her own head as she meet her comrade gaze with a guilt one of her own.

"I-I don't know Ororo...honest!" she sputtered. "Her mind...it's built differently that most...like it's meant to hold more than one. I- she...her memories Ororo...their horrible!"

Ororo breathed deeply, closing her eyes to calm herself, and the storm above them as she cradled the little one closer, her body natively rocking back and force slightly. Jean was young, her eyes still shocked to see great scenes of violence. Time and time alone would teach her control, and strengthen her resolve.

"It does not matter," Storm declared briskly, gathering up the child and rising to her feet. No time for regrets or should-have, not where there was tasks to be done. "Come, it's time to depart."

* * *

They reunited with the men back in the market square, who now accompanied by a handful of ragged survivors, shivering and drinking from the water-skins Cyclops and Wolverine offered them, and svanging what food laid about on the ground.

Logan's senses alerted him to the women's approach first, and gruffly made his way over to examine the newest addition to their band.

"Who's she?" he asked, peering down into the sleeping face of the little one. A tangle of auburn hair streaked with white greeted him. Ororo lifted her chin.

"This is the presence that was hidden near the palace," she explained. "Near the stables."

Logan snorted in disbelief. "Just her? No one else?"

"Just her."

"Must've been hell."

"It was," Jean spoke softly, biting her lip. "The things she saw when the enemy broke through the gate...it was as if all Hades brock loose. With Ares in the lead.

"How did she survive the night then?" Cyclops wondered aloud, coming to his betrothed's side and resting his hand comfortingly on her pale shoulder, lightly squeezing. Logan scowled. Jean didn't noticed, lost in her dismay as her brows furrowed.

"There...there was a little boy with her. Not much older...he opened a way in the wall that led to the stables...those had already been looted, and he hid her in some shrubbery...I think he was her friend...she loved him dearly and he must've loved her...he gave her a coin on string...a necklace."

Ororo glanced downward at her charge...sure enough, their was a cord of oxen hair around her neck, leading to a single cheep coin of no significance. Her heart clenched at the poverty that suggested, the children must've been the offspring's of the lowest ranking servants.

"He wanted to head out and look for more people...she wanted him to stay...the necklace was a promise he'd come back..."

Jean lowered her head now, one hand lifted to cover her mouth, while another reached for her husband.

"But he never did."

* * *

A brief silence followed after this sad tale, and Logan smelled more than saw the way Ororo's arms tighten around the child.

"Well, there's nothing that can be done for that kid now," he said flatly, putting facts first. "We've still got to take care of the folks we've got."

Cyke nodded in rare agreement, straightening up as he overlooked all his team. "Logan's right people. The dead are the concern of the Wealthy One. Only the living matter now -and their depending on us to keep them out of the Boatman's ferry a bit longer. Strom, conjure up a drizzle so we can re-fill the water skins. Jean, Logan, gather up more of the food around here so well have something for the road. I want us out of here by sundown."

For once finding nothing he could pick apart within that argument, Logan went to work along side the others, following the commands with a steady pace...though admittedly, it racked his pride to have the only useful thing he could do reduced to gathering dusty bread, and fruit that was more rotten than a city whore.

So much for being the best at what he did. He was glad when their were on their way, out of the city of dead. On the road he was a man again, standing point with his noise in the air, sniffing for even the slightest hint of trouble as the walked back to the boat by the sea.

And even when they were riding over the waves again, at a gentler pace this time to avoid frightening the people below. Jean and Cyclops were with them, gathering testimony to add to the ever growing list of horror's committed by the Armies of En Sabah Nur. It was process that involved a lot of sobbing and wailing, of hair tore out, robe's tore, breast beaten in grief that was purposely ritualized to help folk keep their senses from summitting to insanity.

It strained Logan's nerves, wound him up like a bow string never released. These people were hurting in a way that would remain till their dying days, and Hermes came to take them to the Boatman. When they were old and forgetting their own names...they wouldn't forget the husband that was beheaded, the sister dishonored, the burning homes, the stench of death...

His hand clenched on the fir railing, claws popping out in agitation.

He knew that all too well.

A cool breeze kissed his cheek, bring his head up to look at it's mistress.

"It is not your fault Logan," Storm murmered softly, from her place beneath the mast. She still had the kid with her, cradle in her lap, declining to place down below with the others, and Cyclops had been wise enough not to press the weather goddess on the issue. Stripes was wrapped in a spare cloak, swaddled like a newborn, face freshly scrubbed free of the ashes of her city and it's corpses.

"...It's not yer fault either Ro, I hope you ya know that," was all he offered in response. Storm merely dropped her gaze, far, far to much like she'd had when they had first know her, and she was relearning to look people in the eye again.

To hades with it. two cubit's of steps had him across the deck, dropt to a knee before her. arm across his knee.

"It's not Ro, from the looks of the city, they were halfway done by the time Charles knew what was happening."

Storm offered a black smile of self-mockery, eyes glowing white with suppressed power. "My head knows this Logan, I asure you...my heart is another matter."

He breathed out. "Nothing I can do to help ya there, darlin'."

"I know..."

They were silent a moment, content with the waves of the Archean and the starlight above. Ancient, wild, never changing, they were some of the few companions that would never abandoned them, never die on them, as everyone else around them seemed keen on doing. Storm breathed in, leaning her head back with lips slightly parted.

"So much beauty and yet so much evil...what sort of world have the gods created? A Paradise or a killing field?"

"I'd lean more towards the killing field."

That mouth twitched, amused. "You would. But their is more to it than that."

Her hand once again brushed auburn-white hair. "Every child born is proof of that."

Logan shifted, uncomfortable. "How...how is the kid?"

Frankly, it worried Logan that the girl hadn't woken up yet, though Jean assured them that nothing was wrong -the kid was merely exhausted. "It wouldn't surprise me if she's gotten little sleep lately."

Which was supposed to be comforting, apparently.

"Well as she can be..." Storm sighed. "Giving that she managed to kick Jean out of her mind, I believe that she'll be one of the gifted...It's fortunate we found her."

"Suppose so. But what happens when she get's to Troy? None of the other folk will be in a fit place to take care of her."

Ororo straighten, her chin lifted regally. "We will cross that bridge when we come to, shall we?"

He held back a sigh. "Alright- I'm just saying-"

Those brilliant eyes narrowed. "When we come to it."

* * *

The wind picked up with a little warning. Logan didn't fancy swimming home, so he nodded. "Alright. When we come to it."

Almost at once, Ororo looked chasten. "Logan I...I am sorry. I don't know what...please-"

He waved hand, dismissive and forgiving in one gestured. "Forget it darlin', it's been a hard time for all of us...we all got our moments."

He was silent a moment, before the words slipped out. "I'm thinking of heading out again, once we get back. Get some thinkin' time to myself."

Storm blinked, and watched him, brow furrowed. "Whatever for? Has something displeased you?"

"You could say that," he grumbled. "It's not an easy thing...fighting for a dream no one else even wants. That the gods probably don't even want."

"I don't believe that Logan," Storm spoke calmly. "It's human nature to long for goodness...it is in the very essence of ourselves-"

"Then way can't we ever reach it?" Wolverine demanded. "We struggle to try and stay outta the dirt, to stand on our pedestals, and it's our own weight that brake 'em, sends us back down into the mess we tried to get out of. And then we just try to do it over again. It's like Sisyphus. Nothing changes."

He looked away from her, unwilling to see the shame of him on her face. "Nothing. And I've live long enough to known."

A warm hand found it's way to his jaw, not grasping, not demanding...merely there, like a vow.

"The world may not change, but we change, Logan. We change everyday, with every choice to get up and face the dawn and the nightfall. We become the best of ourselves...or the worse. It's easy to become the worse...quicker, more seductive. But Hercules knew that true glory lay in his labors purifying him of his past, to reach holy Olympias. Why wouldn't it be the same for us?"

"Cause some days, I don't feel like I have a best self," he shared bluntly. "I was born the worse and the only thing I got leaves body parts in it's wake...I don't fit in any paradise world of poets and Nancy boys like the Athenians."

"We both know that isn't the truth," Ororo returned firmly, the wind picking up with her passion. "The man you think are wouldn't have stay around at all...he would've have fight besides us at all. The man you describe wouldn't have carried me to safety when he found me in that field...he...he would've…he would've ravished me in the dirt and been on his merry way-"

His claws popped out again, slicing into the deck. "Ro!"

She didn't flinch. "He would've have, Logan, if such a man existed in you...but I tell you he does not. You at your worse is what some men cannot hope to be at their best, and the gods know it."

Laughing incredulously, the Wolverine could only shake his head. "Ro...yer one crazy dame."

Lifting an eyebrow, she calmly returned, "And you are one stubborn feral...but I happen to like you that way."

 _Your lost Ro_ , he thought, though now he knew better than to say it out loud.

Then he stilled, and glanced downward, the girl heartbeat picking up in pace as she groggily tried to return to the land of the living.

"Stripes is wakin' up Ro," he alerted the Windrider, who immediately sat up straightener, turning her full attention to the bundle stirring in her lap.

"Meehh...emmm," the kid muttered, eyelashes flickering in the starlight.

"Wake up little one," Storm cooed softly, making Logan blink and stare at her. Shit, he hadn't know Ro could coo. "Awaken. You are safe child. This I promise you. You are safe now."

It took a few minutes of such coaxing -solely from Storm of course, naturally- but eventually, Stripes was blinking the biggest mossy eyes up at them, green as the inner woods Logan had found sanctuary in for most of his life. Wide and confused as a heifer calf being offered for sacrifice.

At first she said nothing, those wide, wide eyes flickering back and forth between them with a gobsmaked look.

Storm smiled, and helped her sit up. "Hello again little one."

Stripes stared. "Who...who are ya?"

Storm blinked, and Wolverine furrowed his brows. "Do you not know, child? I was the one who found you-"

"Found meh..." the little girl repeated, with an intelligence far beyond her years. "Found meh...where? Here? Where am ah? Who are ya? Where's mama?"

Storm was the one staring now, while Logan had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the look in Stripes eyes, the wild, desperate confusion of drawing up a blank beach where the memories that should've been carved in stone were instead written in the sand...washed away.

"Get Jean."

* * *

"I can't fully explain it," the redhead mind reader pronounced, removing her hand from Stripes head...and gods, in had taken a lifetime to get the girl convinced that the processed wouldn't hurt. Even then, that didn't stop those eyes from darting suspiciously between the four of them, mistrustful.

Smart girl.

"It's...it's as though all the memory of her life burned themselves away...my father's heard of such things...sometimes when the mind is under extreme terror, it blocks things out in order to survive. Children are especially prone to it..." here Jean winced. "I probably didn't help any when I tried to calm her down."

"Her memories are gone then," Logan asked. "Gone fer good?"

Jean spread her hands helplessly. "They might not even been turely gone Logan...just...blocked behind a wall so they can't hurt her...they still might come back...given time, or a trigger."

"Or not," Cyclops said.

"Or not."

The leader pursed his lips before turning to Stripes. "It changes nothing-"

"It changes a lot fer _her,_ one-eye," Logan growled.

Cyke glared.

"I mean it changes nothing in terms of the mission. Will take her to the King and see if their anything he can do to help her."

He frowned down at the kid. "Is there anything you can remember, anything at all -your home, your age, your mother's name-"

"Of course Ah know mama's name," Stripes huffed up at him, arms crossed and glaring with wall the ferocity of angry hare, nose sniffing. "Mama's name is _Mama._ What, Ah look stupid to ya?"

Silence reigned at this, Logan snorted, then tried to turn it into a chough as Ro shot him a look. Jean bit her lip, thoughtful, while her husband-to-be ran a hand over the bridge of his nose.

"It's been a long day, people...how bout we all settle in for the night and look at this again in the morning. If we can't settle it then, we'll deal with it in Troy."

* * *

Reviews make me happy so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner.

How was the debat between Storm and Logan...that was the heart of the piece really, Logan is a guy who thinks he's the worse when really, he has a lot more honor than he gives himself credit for. Wolverine story always reminded me a bit of Hercules. How's the story going so far, anybody have an predictions, things they want to see? How do you like how I'm writing the character?

The Wealthy One: Hades, Greeks didn't like to speak his name, so they had titles for him

The Boatman Charon: the ferry that took souls to the afterlife...natural, you didn't want his attention on you.

Sisyphus: a man cursed to roll a rock up a hill for eternity, never having success.

Hercules: had twelve labors to purify him of the sin of murder that happened in a fit of rage.


	5. Chapter 5

Guest : Thank you, I'm so glad.

Nightfademusic: Well I'm flad you like the time period! Here is a look at Gambit and Rogue as grown ups in the Greek World. More will come later!

KaliAnn: I'm glad you enjoyed Ororo and Storm in the last chapter, hope you like this one!

Alaster Boneman: So glad you like my take on Wolverine, hope you like what I got here!

doomseas1: Thanks for thinking everyone's in character! hope you like them here.

* * *

Chapter IV

 _Fire and shadows chased them down the halls that had once seemed so safe, the cruel ring of bronze and mocking laughter followed them as women screamed and vases shattered. She couldn't think -her five year old mind had lost the ability to think, to feel, to process what was happening. Honestly, she'd still be frozen in the corner of her room if_ he _had come running, and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him through the dark tunnel in the wall, ignoring the fact that her smaller legs couldn't keep up._

 _"W-w-wait!" she gasped out, as they sharply rounded another bend, petrified by the sounds of people trying to flee in any -every- direction, on the other side of the wall. And the more terrifying silence that came after._

 _Though it hurt when she fell and skinned her knee in the dark. It was black, so very black. She couldn't see anything, and there had been no time to grab a torch light. Her only sense of direction was the death grip her friend had on her hand._

 _"Ah can't keep up! Slow down-"_

 _"We can't Rogue!" he cried, tugging her to her feet. "Dey comin'! De wall won't hold 'em long!"_

 _Gasping, her eyes met his, swirling embers in the dark blackness, luminating his thin face just enough to shine off the coin he wore on his neck. She loved those eyes, loved the way the brighten and dim with her friend's happiness. They were always bright around her._

 _They were bright now, and they reached inside her, filling her up with his determine defiance._

 _"Dey ain't gonna get us Rogue," he vowed. "Dey ain't gonna get us, y' hear?"_

 _"Uh-huh," she murmured back between pants as they continued, chasing the slim line of lightthat shone at the end. But as far as they went, as hard as they ran...the end just keep getting further and further away..._

* * *

 _ten years later..._

Jerking awake under a canopy of laurel trees, the young maiden with mossy-ice for eyes flung herself from her sleep roll in a tangle of blankets, and nearly fumbling into the dying coals of the fire she and Logan had started last night. Undeterred, her pale hand drew the _kopis_ dagger from it secure place within her pillow, gleaming bronze in the moonlight. Briefly, the girl just lay there on the cold ground, breath sharp and ragged, and her vision waiting for enemies to leap from the shadows and memory.

But there was none, just the chirping of crickets and faint tweets of birds. And the _sckint_ of Wolverine's claws as her protector shot upright along with her, blue eyes blazing as his nose sniffed the air for whatever frightened her.

"Stripes, you okay?"

It was a moment before she could answer, before the cold sweat of her body had died down enough to let her answer.

"Yah Logan, Ah'm okay...it was just a nightmare."

She snorted then, her grip on the dagger tightening even as it lowered and mused on the thought.

And that was the epic of her life now, wasn't it? Hmmm? Enemies in her mind, in her past, barley recalled, but always there. And now for the past three months, her enemy crawled in her very skin. But not one she could face off with. Not one she could kill.

Logan's ageless eyes had narrowed. " _The_ nightmare?"

She arched her brow beneath curly white bangs. "Wasn't aware their was more than one."

"Mind the mouth, girl," he growled without menace, head shaking in exasperation as his claws retreated. "How many times do I have to tell ya to mind your mouth? How you managed to live this without offending every god out there -"

He stopped then, even before she had frozen abruptly, air hissing harshly between her lips, pressed white.

"Kid, I didn't mean that-"

"Yes yah did," she bite out, heart pounding rapidly again, thin body shaking. "You did, and so did everybody else in Troy."

There wasn't much either of them could say to that. It was true after all. So she stood up, blinking back salt water.

"At least yer honest enough to say it to mah face." she said, and turned away.

"Hold it Stripes," Logan hissed at once, tossing his own cloak off. "Ya can't just-"

"Why not? I won't go far. Sides, ain't no maiden safer than me alone..."

Here she let her voice soften in the way she knew her friend could never refuse. "Ah need to be alone Logan, just get some sleep, I'll return before Apollo's in the sky."

Wolverine grumbled, spat, and looked just like a hairy lion with a mouse running over it's paw.

"...No further than the creek, you hear? And take yer bow."

"No further than the creek," she vowed, bending over to scoop up her bow and quiver, sliding them over the thin knee-length hunting chiton she wore. It was the same mossy green and white as her eyes and bangs, tied with a died gridle of leather, a hand woven gift from Storm for her fifteenth birthday.

And what a birthday it was. Fifteen was an important year, marking the true passing of girlhood into true Maidenhood. The year that was suppose to bring betrothal, marriage, children. Only for her, that maidenhood was more like Persephone's, locked and sealed in death's embraced.

She scowled, hard eyes closing as her arms wrapped around herself, both cradling and condemning her continued weakness as she walked; until the trembling subsided, and her heartbeat steady from a waterfall to a steam.

Rogue sighed irritably, dragging her free hand through the tangled mess of auburn waves and curls.

"Well, it's not like Ah needed to sleep," she muttered drily, as she stopped beside the flowing creek, and dropped to her knees. Shaking, she reached out and cherished the feel of cool water rushing though her, her head leaning back. "Almost mornin' anyways..."

And that was true...a quick glance beyond the fluttering branches showed that the sky in the east was pink with Eos's rosy fingers, waiting for when Apollo' cart would drag the sun for another round of life in the famous Troy.

Rogue's night terror's over the years had made the maiden well acquainted with rise of light. Sometimes...it made her wonder if the Apollo had chosen her for a bride. She shuddered at the thought -While he was said to be very handsome, Apollo's wives had a terrible habit of dying in horrible ways. And as much as Rogue loved the solitude provided by the outdoor green and woods, she had little desire to become a tree.

She made a face, it would be just like the gods, to curse her with poisoned skin that only one of _them_ could defile.

"Can they ever find someone else to torment," she grumbled as curled her hand into a fist beneath the water.

"That's not how the gods work Stripes."

Startled, she jerked around, hands notching her bow with easy movement even as her ears recognized the voice. "Damn it Logan! Ah could've shot ya-"

He shrugged, before sauntering down besides her. "That wouldn't do any permeant damage and ya know it."

She huffed at him, nose wrinkled. "Ya weren't saying that when Ah was first learnin, and sent that one shaft straight into ya butt. Gods, Ah bet they heard ya all across Troy."

Logan scowled at the memory. "Don't remind me. The things I put up with ya Stripes..."

"Come on, it wasn't all bad -ya had Storm and Jean dotting all over ya till you healed."

Now Logan gave her the evil eye. But she just fluttered her own innocently.

"Did I say somthin?"

The old warrior's shoulder's shagged. "Yer always saying somthin Rogue..."

She felt her own shaky smile bleed dry. "Sure, that's the problem, right?"

"Kid..."

"Don't Logan..." She glared at the sky again. It was light enough to move out. "Just...don't say another word until we're at the Temple. Till then I want to just pretend that is just another hunt your taking me on. Like you promised for my birthday. Okay?"

He looked at her steady for a long while, and his hand twitched upward, wanting to take the young huntress's chin in the way he had countless time over the last ten years. He nearly did until she flinched, and he remembered why they were taking this trip in the first place, remembered the cruel lot the gods that given to his foster daughter.

"Okay Stripes," he sighed, defeated and hating it. Rogue needed help, and he couldn't give it to her. No one could, save the gods, and they clearly weren't listening.

What a surprise that was.

* * *

The sun was midway through the sky when the tree line of the forest parted to the grassy hills that dotted the coast, Rouge knew that just beyond it lay the beach, where the local villages of fishermen and merchants applied their trade. She could see them now from atop the hill, dozens of ant sized figures rushing about with nets and sails, there laughter floating on the wind to brush her face.

They looked happy...particularly one young girl in a bright saffron veil, her robe large over her large stomach as she waddled towards what must have been her husband with a plate of figs and cheese with for afternoon meal. The young man beamed at her, before tipping her head back for a quick kiss that lead to a playful shove.

She didn't smile, and didn't, move until Logan hand rested on her shoulder.

"Come on Stripes," he said, voice uneasily soft. For once, she obeyed without a word.

They moved on, traveling down the sandy path that lead to their destination. Limestone columns rose to crown the sky, holding up a massive roof painted in red, blue, and gold. From the center of this roof, a cloud of billowing smoke rose to the gods on Mount Olympus. Rogue's heart tighten along with her face. Though she had been to the Temple of Apollo many times since she had been brought to Troy, never before had it look so much like a tomb to her.

But it was tomb she had to enter. For it was the only place in the land that could tell her why she was imprisoned in her own body. Which god had she offended, and which one did she have to grovel to in order to be free again?

Logan stopped just outside the main gate to the courtyard, looking like he wanted nothing more than to take her away from the whole place eniterly.

"Yer sure you want to so this Stripes," he asked again, arms folded tightly over his tunic.

"Ah have to Logan," she told him, annoyed. "King Xavier said this would be the only place where Ah could find my answer."

"But once you hear it, yer bound to it Rogue, and the Oracle will be able to call you on it if you ever go against her word...she could have you stone to death in the street Rogue."

"Least Ah'd be able to feel it," she retorted, before clenching her jaw, squaring her shoulders, and marching on ahead, never looking back.

* * *

Despite her bravo, the sudden darkness she was engulfed in was jarring to the maiden, making her heart race like the deer with the uncanny similarity to her dream. Unconsciously her tan fingers moved to touch the single coin necklace from Kallistē, that once graced the neck of a nameless childhood friend. It was an action she had performed innumerable times in the quiet of the night, especially in the early day, when neither Storm or Logan or Jean was near by to run to for comfort.

She still remembered the first time it had been slide over her head, by the clever olive fingers that had previously held her hand through the tunnel, only to let her go once they reached the outside. Him shoving her near the stable's manure pile -claiming it would help hide her scent. But he'd refused to stay with her.

 _"I got t' find de others, dey need to get out!"_

Even as a five year old, she could hear the death wish in that statement, and it had infuriated (terrified) Rogue that her friend didn't seem to think so, even as she screamed at him not to leave her.

 _"I'll be back Rogue, I promise."_

Her eyes darkened. But clearly he never did...and she didn't even know his name. He'd cared enough about her to saved her life, and she couldn't even remember his name. Was that what the gods were punishing her for?

 _Don't think about that now Rogue, not here. Not ever._

She pressed on, and finally, the darkness and blank walls gave way to the great hearth fire of the god, burning steady before the carved throne that held the Oracle. Rogue didn't like to think of herself a judgmental person...but she had to admit, it took conscious effort not to reach for her bow as the withered figured gasped and lifted her graying head, staring at the young woman with sunken, ageless eyes and spoke as Jean did -mind to mind.

 _ **"Why do you come to Apollo's Oracle Maiden?"**_

For a brief moment, Rogue didn't know, too appalled by the way blacken teeth slapped against withered gums. How could such a creature be the servant of the gods?

"Ah...Ah come to ask for ya wisdom, great seer," she finally managed to force out.

The crone might've lifted an eyebrow, and a sound like laughter hissed from her.

 ** _"So do all who come to me, but will wisdom be accepted by you?"_**

"Ah'll accept anything ya tell me!" Rogue cried, fist balled. "Just tell meh what to _do!"_

The hag was enjoying herself...Rogue just knew she was.

 ** _"I have heard of you, huntress. I know what you are and were? You were Rogue, apprenticed midwife to Storm the Windrider, war-woman in training for the X men. Now you are Rogue the Untouchable. Rogue the Ever-Chaste. You're skin carries the mark of your gift...making you safe from any violation, a taker and keeper of great power. Are you not satisfied with this?"_**

The girl nearly choked. "Satisfied?! Do ya know what happened on mah thirteenth birthday!?"

The hag smiled. " _ **Enlighten me?"**_

"Ah...ah was just coming off the archery field with mah friend...Cody. He's...he was...training to be a huntman," Rogue gasped out, tears threathing to spill again. "His mother was a widow...he was her only child."

"Ah was excited. Ah was goin' hunting later that day. He just nodded along at the right times and then...he kissed meh..."

Her throat ran dry. "And Ah sucked his psyche right from his body. His life, his dreams, everything. Ah nearly killed him. Maybe it would be better if Ah did. He'd never been the same...and he doesn't blame me for it. Said it was an accident."

She breathed. "King Xaviver...everyone...we've tried everything. _Everything._ But everyone Ah touch, I drain...Ah got Storm's, Wolverine's, Jean's powers running under mah skin...but Ah can't touch them. Ah can't touch anyone. Ah can't feel alive. Tatartus! Ah don't have a life no more! Ah been training to be a midwife...can't do that if Ah drain the babies dry! Ah can't...how can Ah get married, or have children?"

 _ **"Why do you want to?"**_

Rogue stared at her. "Why wouldn't Ah? Ah don't want to be alone forever! Ah been alone nearly all mah life!"

The Oracle snorted, and waved a grey hand. _**"What you want is inconsequential to the gods, and the path they have chosen for you can not be diverted from. Apollo speaks to me. Do you wish to know your fate?"**_

"Tell meh..."

The Oracle straightened in her seat, and breathed deeply, drew smoke through her nostrils. She dropped her jaw, the smoke rolling out in green vaper, spilling an onslaught of words.

 _ **Let the Untouchable's body be clad in mourning wed,**_  
 ** _And kept in Leto's daughter's_** ** _Temple rock, of yonder hill aloft:_**  
 _ **Her husband is no being of human seed,**_  
 _ **But a White Demon, bloody and fierce in many deed.**_  
 _ **Who flies with evil above in conquered lands,**_  
 _ **And doth subdue each thing with fiery flight.**_  
 _ **The gods themselves, and powers that seem so wise,**_  
 _ **With mighty Zeus, be subject to his might,**_  
 _ **The rivers black, and deadly floods of pain**_  
 ** _And darkness eke, as thrall to him remain_**  
 _ **Through captured and union the Maiden birth's Troy's Salvation**_

Finished, the Oracle closed her mouth, and relaxed, seeming to enjoy the white faced look of horror that had come on to Rogue's face.

"There is your fate girl, be reconciled to it and depart, I'll waste no more time with you."

For a moment Rogue didn't move, couldn't move as her vision filled with the blood red of Logan's berserker rage; she could feel his claws bushing through her skin, wanting to spring. But she was a huntress, not a murderer, and in a sloppy turn, managed to stumble away, back through the dark hallway. What...what was this thing, what so of creature was she, so consumed by the gods that she could emotionless tell a fellow woman to be "reconciled" to her raped and enslavement?

For she knew what the Oracle spoke of regarding the "husband" of the prophecy. All of Asia Minor knew what the hag had spoken of. For the past five years, their ears had been filled with the horror tales of the new Horseman of En Sabah Nur...the White Demon who threw death from his hands, reckless with disregard for the possibility of his own. Who brought armies to heel with the dread of his names. They said that Essex, the trainer and governor of the Horsemen, ocrastractor of their atrocities had raised the boy with personal delight, crafting him.

Some merely called the White Demon Death. Others called him Gambit.

"Stripes...Stripes, hold it!"

Arms were around her, holding her back, and blinking, Rogue realized that she had walked clean out of the temple.

"What did that old hag say to you Stripes?" Logan demanded.

She stared. No way could tell him. Not all of it.

"That Ah'm stuck like this...and will be a priestess of Artemis."

That was mostly true. But there was more that had to be shared, and she swallowed hard.

"And that we're in trouble...all of Troy. The En Sabah Nur's Horsemen will be coming for us."

* * *

In another part of the world, a city was burning.

A month of siege had finally come to its conclusion, in a blaze of consuming fire. The gates the held Sinister's Marauders back had crumpled to it's knees before them, no long able to hold death at bay.

Animals tore senseless through the streets, eyes flared in the heat of the flames, intensified by the will of a laughing pyromaniac, as the cries of children were indiscriminately silenced. The shrieks of woman became laments for the dead. They pleaded for their lives, but touch only deaf or uncaring ears.

Worse, ears that heard, but were powerless to do nothing.

The conquers moved quickly, each knowing their task to complete. Sabertooth and Scalped-hunter and the woman know as Archlight tore into the remaining defenders, their faces painted with smoke and their enemies blood. Others turned upon the crowds, the clawed fists of a feral little girl and silver shinny skin of a towering giant terrifying the new hordes of slaves to running in whatever direction their new masters pleased.

And on the battlements, closing the unseeing eyes of the young woman he used and betrayed, the lanky warrior responsible for the opening of the cities gates stood and looked upon the victory with eyes as red as the fire, and black as deed lain upon his soul, and breathed out slowly.

Just another night.

* * *

Reviews make me happy so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner.

Okay, so Rogue and Remy are grown up...by ancient Greek terms, at roughly fifteen and twenty years of age, and the plot is about to get into motion. What do you think of what their lives have become...obviously Rogue got the better deal. Any guesses on where its headed? How was the Oracle? Also guys, I might have to bump up the rating, cause lets face it, the Iliad is a bloody work with some serious adult stuff. I might be able to work it as T, but what do you think?

Okay, Rogue doesn't want to turn into a tree like Daphne, the nymph loved by Apollo.

Rogue wanting to be a midwife is a reference to Artemis since she was the goddess of childbirth as well as virginty...somewhat oddly if you ask me.

The prophecy the Oracle gives Rogue is a slightly altered take on the one Psyche was given when she discovered she was to marry Eros...and like with Psyche, the woman went out of her way to make sound worse than it was.


	6. Chapter 6

geekstar76 :Here you are, I hope it was worth the wait for you!

Guest: Wow, what a wonderful review! I love your input and hope to have more of it! Well have Remy and Rogue together again soon, never fear! Next chapter even.

Guest : More X men of course! I plan to rebuilt the ancient world!

Guest: Gambit will have his pov told in the next chapter! Hope you like this one

Alaster Boneman : I'm glad you think it feel epic, that's what I'm going for!

Kaliann: Yes, I want that loneless to come across.

* * *

VII

The Great Hall of his house was built of the sane material that made the majority of homes in Troy. Steadfast sandstone the rafters of fir and cedar supported by the twelve holy pillars, one for each of the gods -with a statue of each Olympian before them- gleaming with crimson and gold plating, the alters upon which sacrificed could be offered stained with the mixing of libations -both wine and blood. In his father's time, Xavier had often spied upon the preceding long before he was of age to attend, thanks to the early discovery of his gift. At the time, his child's self had not been very discipline in it usage, mostly using it to advoid study and to spy on the...erm...well...less than maidenly thoughts of the palace most beautiful servant girls. Indeed, he must admit, he'd been a wicked child.

But even then, he had been observant, concealing everything his glimpsed of his father's preceding, how the man spoke to his council, using logos and ethos in equal measure to guild his city through whatever the gods saw fit to through at them. Athena, born of Zeus Thunderer had long been the patron of the Xavier Household, wily yet stern in her governance. Charles had long sought to emulate her wisdom, for surely it was she, the flash gray-eyes, that had blessed him with the ability he had that made him king, when by all rights, his legs should have denied him his seat on the dais.

Yet here he was, before the council that helped him rule his people, loyal friends, valiant comrades. Seated on carved benches around a rain filled impluvium, to his immediate right was Jean and Scott, as well as Jean's Father, as head of the Royal Physicians. He was hard pressed not to smile at Jean in particular, the glowing swell of her stomach matching the faint stirring of a second mind sleeping peacefully. Clothed in white chiton with her sheets of hair curled in long braids, and golden earrings of chained flowers dangling from her ears, she was radiant enough to rival Aphrodite herself.

Besides those three, next there was the balding, extravagantly clothed Carmen ben Samuel, a repesentive of the Hebrew population of the city. His story was an interesting one. Born of the tribe of Judah, he and his household had grown weary of wandering endlessly in the wilderness, and had therefore departed from his people. Unfortunately for the man, the Hebrew conquest of Jericho made all the cities he journeyed to shut their gates against the lost tribe. They had been near starvation when they had reach Troy, and Xavier had permitted them first to camp outside the wall to recover their strength. Later, after some negotiation, they were welcomed inside: for truly, would it be prudence to turn away a people that possessed a god that could command wind, topple walls, and spilt seas?

Hardly. And the Hebrews had proven to be useful if odd ciztens, productive in made trades and crafts -Carmen was a merchant himself- closed off and in a sense unwilling to comprise on their strict laws of purity and uncleanness. This made them unpopular in the eyes of some of the citizenry, who feared the punishment of the gods when such a large group of people determinedly ignored, shunned, and mocked them. Carmen knew all this, which was partly why he had allowed his firstborn and only daughter -Kitty- to join Xaviver's household when it became clear that she was among the gifted. The first ever to be born to the Trojan Hebrews.

After Carmen their was Ororo...strong as a hurricane...gentle as the summer rain. If Jean looked like Aphrodite, than Ororo was the incarnation of both Hera and Gaia, her fragrant robe draped over warm skin with tasseled cloak tossed regally over her shoulders. Like always, her feet were bare against the chambers cool stone to better feel the life of the earth, hand folded with demureness in her lap.

Logan was next...the Wolverine, savage turned man. Feeling himself Honorless, yet by far the most honor bound of them all. Murderer turned warrior, Outcast turned teacher. Loner turned...in some sense...father. For it was the look of a father that glared at Hank as the blue gifted adjusted in his seat to continue his opinion on the matter brought to the table.

"Now I don't want to be misunderstood," Hank was saying, hands out. "I have absolutely no doubt that Rogue is telling us what she truly believes...but we all know that the Oracle loves to make her...announcement's as vague and un figureable as possible. It doesn't nessecarly have to mean that war is coming."

"War's been coming to us for a long time blue ball," Logan growled out, ever since he and young Rogue had returned from there journey, he had been broodful. "We've always know that. Save for Egypt, we're the only major kingdom that aint conquered by En Sabah Nur or payin' trubite to him an' his goons. You really think he'll just leave us alone forever? We're a major trade route. Once we're out of the way, he'll control the seas to get to the rest of the world. If he's decided it's time, his horsemen could be at our gates in a matter of days."

The council muttered, shifted, considered. What Logan said was true there was no denying it. The world was swallowed by empires, as it was in every age. And small little pockets of kingdoms tried to swim in the drowning tide. The only reason the lands beyond Troy were safe was because the gifted held the line. That was what the X-men were for. To keep freedom within the eastern lands...with the home of oneday freeing the west.

"What would suggest we do then Wolverine? We have one army that is dwarfed by the En Sabah Nur Empire. If we were to attack first, it would as if we attacked Mount Olympus itself! The sheer number of gifted among the horsemen-!"

Fervent muttering broke out among the rest of the conciel as Charles watched and observed, their mouths moving quicker than there thoughts in most cases. Which was a trait typical in most people, he had discovered.

* * *

Lifting his head from where it rested in his knuckles, the great mind reader project a careful wave of calm to all gather, aided by Jean when she became aware of the task.

"You are all right, in your own ways," Charles announced, the circlet of authority gleaming in the light that shone through the window slots Hank had designed. "Oracles take cruel delight in being misleading in their words, hiding truth within their lies and lies within their truths. Let us first deal with the truth... We have too longed lived in the shadows growing across our seas, greedy for our success and wealth, since they have so very easily devoured their own people. Yet to attack first would be our end...this truth. And it has never been our way to use violence as our first means of defense-"

"Speak fer yer self Chuck-" Logan started to grumble...though a small burst of lighting from Ororo silenced him through clenched teeth. The Wind Rider merely glared back. Cyclops sighed heavily, though Jean merely giggled through her lifted hands.

"Rather, we should first begin by trying to forge stronger allies with other nations still independent of En Sabah Nur. It is just as well that the ambassador from King Magnus ben Jacob of Genosha has arrived asking us to send delegates to attend the marriage of his daughter."

Again, the mutterings broke out, and Carman nearly leapt out of his seat.

You can not be serious! You wish for Troy to beg alliance with the Blaspheming Accursed!?"

Charles winced. Ah yes...he'd forgotten that part. But really, Magnus had brought that unflattering title upon himself. Born a slave in the Egyptian brick pits...he had lost his parents under the lash, and his oldest brother to the Pharaoh decree that the first born males of the Hebrew's were to die. Rendered alone, Magnus had found sanity in his wife, a water girl who would one day bare his children...until the day came when the lovely slave girl had caught the eye of the local Master Builder...the same man who had once owned Ororo. With no regard that Magda bat Joseph was already a devoted wife -the shameless man had merely taken her from her daily routes, and dragged the poor soul kicking and screaming to her new occupation as his personal house slave...where her main duty would be to lie in another man's bed.

Magnus took all this about as well as could be expected. He tried to rescue her. Of course he had, sneaking into the Master Builder's house in the dead of night to find him in the processed of...how to say...defiling his wife by all accounts with very violent force and a love of the girl's pain. The resulting battle between the two men had ended with Magda having the time to flee...and Magnus tied between the two pillars of the house, the Master Builder taking delight in the prospect of whipping him to death.

That might have been a heroic end for future master of magmatism...but yet fate had other plans.

Another man -slave born but raised a prince in the halls of Pharaoh- had intercede, halting the whip, and strangling that Master Builder before freeing his Hebrew brother, and dragging him safety home to Magda. That man -Moses ben Abram- was soon uncovered for his good deed and force to flee into the deserts. He had returned, naturally, with the claim of having seen the Hebrew God that had-no-name. With a simple demand to Pharaoh -let his people go.

It make a long story short...Pharaoh did...with some persuasion of the like even Charles didn't think a god could do.

But Magnus story didn't end there. By this time, Magda had made him a daughter, Anya. But she had died before liberation could come for her. The bitterness of it had awaken Magnus gift during the much rumored incident with the golden...cow was it? Or a pig? Whichever.

Magnus had help built it, useing his might to craft the thing and curse his nation's god, daring the heavens to match his power with it's own. Which it did...and Magnus had reported come up very, _very,_ short.

But it had spared his life, sending him away from his nation, branded as Accursed. Magda out of love had followed him...until they came to an unclaimed island, and built a nation out of it, made solely for the gifted.

But before that, Magnus had taken shelter here, under Xaviver's roof, arriving their with his pregnant wife in his arms, demanding aid...not asking...not begging...demanding. But Charles had given it nevertheless. The twins had been born here, Wanda bat and Pietro ben Magnus. But their mother had died in the giving of them life -she had refused to allow the priestess of Artemis to assist her in labor. For all his arrogance and wrath...Magnus had become his friend in his grief. Charles had been fascinated by his story, sad though it was.

He'd offer a place as co-leader of the forming X-Men...but Magnus at the end had resfused, taken his children, and set off to conquer. Perhaps enivatabily, he took over a kingdom, and expelled all but the gifted from his shores. En Sabah Nur had long held his eye on such a rich prize...but Magnus defied him at every turn.

Such an ally could not be wasted. And he said as much to the council. Accursed or no.

Carman shook his head. "To bind ourselves with the Accursed is to share our fate with him. The man challenged Jehovah Himself for His glory...how can such a man be counted as a friend?"

"Well bub, seeing as we don't have many, will just have to make do," Logan growled. "Okay, so who do we send to the wedding?"

Cyclops rubbed his now beard jaw, considering. "It would be best to send people he wouldn't feel threaten by...so Ro, you and your lightening are out. But me and Alex should be good. And Genosha usually sent marriage dates around the festival of Artemis right? So this would be a good opportunity for Rogue to experience her new role as a priestess...and Kitty. We should send Kitty-"

"Over my dead body!" Carmen growled. "You think I allow my daughter to step foot in the accursed house?! No -no -nnooo...Why yes...I do see how that would work. The Acursed would fee comfortable with a fellow Hebrew...yes...I must take leave now."

In a turning stumble, Carmen departed the room, leaving slacken jaws in his wake.

Immediately all eyes turned to Jean. Who immediately shook her fiery head.

"Well, we need Kitty to go don't we?" she spoke, and it was not with the voice of a woman...it was to deep for that, to laced with understated power, which had all in the room nodding their heads in agreement, nearly without thought.

* * *

"Again now lass," her new teacher instructed her gently. And with far more patiently than she probably deserved, standing on the cool tiles of the Temple of Athena, where all new clergy took their vows in Troy, regardless of whom they served. "Take it from the top."

What Rogue would honestly like to do now was take a hike to be honest, stomping her feet with frustration all the way back to the woods she loved. But unfortunately, that wasn't an option. The sooner this was over, the sooner it would be behind her.

 _O pale, cool goddess, proud and free_  
 _Roaming through woods and skies_  
 _Ah call upon you to bless me_  
 _With your great gift of freedom._

 _Ah...Ah wish no heat of human passion_  
 _Envy, lust, or desperation..._

No desperation...Rogue's mouth twitch bitterly, sure, lets go with that.

 _Nor the crowded streets and archways_  
 _Full of sweat and stinking masses._

Not with her lovely "gift" naturally, she take out a dozen people in the bumbling masses.

 _What I wish is virgin silence..._

Not that there was a choice in this matter.

 _Quiet glades and rushing water_  
 _To hunt and fish with none to follow_  
 _To breathe the cool of evening air_

The next words were bitter to say, and for the shake of Troy she tried to swallow as much of it back as possible.

 _No husband shall untie my bridal knot_  
 _Which bind children to the womb_  
 _Ah have escaped the net_  
 _New springtime, and cool, clear winds_  
 _Heal my tired lust and send_  
 _New and chaste strength into me as ya servent..._

Her muscles nearly wept with the relief. There. It was finished. She was done. She looked up from where she was kneeling by the alter, up into the kind face of Moria of MacTaggart, priestess of Athena, and by far the wisest women in Troy. Who was slowly approaching her with a woven diadem of sliver cypress branches, attached to a matching gazy veil that would fall down her back and could thankful be tucked into her belt. Rogue swallowed again as it was carefully lowered upon her head, heavy with the burden off unexpected weight.

But at least it was done...whatever the future held for Troy, she was now in the best position to do whatever was neassary to protect this city...at least according to the Oracle...

Gods...she hoped she was doing something right...just _something._

* * *

Walking through the streets of the city was different now, then it had been before. With one look at her crown, her short white and green hunter's chiton, the people parted before her with utmost respect, eyes lowed, palms lifted, murmured voices of "My lady" echoing to her, where once she'd been all but invisible. Without much thought, her bare feet carried Rogue to the center marketplace. The beating heart of Troy. Swabbed with endless rows of merchants displaying their wares to any and all (so long as it looked like they had money) linen from Egypt and jewelry from the Bedouins gleamed like fish scales, meanwhile, spices and oils from all over the world teased the air.

Rogue had always hated the place. It was filled with no good crooks who only goal in life was to rob you blind.

So why was she here? Simple. She need a friend, and here was a sure place to find her-

"Oh my God...Rogue!" a perky, squealy voice called out to her.

Case in point.

Literally charging through a display of nose rings, Kitty bat Carmen raced to her side in a swirl of brown hair, wide eyes, and dropped jaw as the younger girl took in the sight before her.

"Like, Jehovah have mercy Rogue...you actually did it!"

Rogue allowed her eyebrow to arch. "What, were ya in doubt?"

Looking mortified, Kitty reverently shook her head, and her hands, making the sleeves of her pink robe shake down her bangle caked arms. Good gods above, Kitty must've had one heck of a shopping spree; Rogue didn't recognized a single thing on the young Hebrew. Must've cost half her dowry.

"Oh no...no, never Rogue, never! I knew you could do it! I wish I could've been there!"

Then she paused. "Well, um, no. No I don't. My parent's would kill me if I ever set foot into the temple of a false god...but-"

"I get it Kit," Rogue interrupted calmly. "I promised I do."

The younger girl's shoulder's dropped in relief. "Good."

Then, carefully, Kitty embraced her.

"You look beautiful Rogue, almost like a bride. Like, you'll bring ever boy to tears. "

Rogue shook her head. "They an keep 'em tears, I have no need for them."

* * *

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